The Weight of Shame

I don’t have any memories of feeling ashamed prior to giving my life to Jesus at age nine. From that moment on, there have been three primary ways this shame has manifested in my life: feeling ashamed about sex and my sexuality, feeling ashamed about what I perceived to be my laziness in not working hard in a traditionally masculine, grinding, and hustling way, and feeling ashamed about my food intake and my body image. Today I want to talk about the latter.

I've had the food chatter voice in my head since I was a freshman in high school. Up until then, I was fine with my super skinny body. But around late middle school, my dad began pinching my stomach regularly to try and search for what he called “meat.” When he couldn’t find any, he (and increasingly others) would command me to “put some meat on those bones.” I had no concept of overeating yet, so all I could do was eat until I was full. This wasn’t enough for me to gain weight. I remember praying quite a lot in those first couple of years of high school that God would help me out with this. I had no luck until Leslie got pregnant with our firstborn daughter.

The year was 1994. I was 22. I was in a dead-end job that was boring as hell, working the graveyard shift. I was going to college all day studying a religion I was already seriously doubting. I was hardly getting any sleep. I was surrounded by men telling me I was lazy and not manly enough. I was also starting to show signs of balding. This was my first bout with depression, though at the time I would have never admitted it mostly because I didn’t even know what depression was. My boss at work introduced me to a new concept: eating fast food in the middle of the night for fun rather than out of hunger.

One thing about myself that I used to hate, but have really come to love, is that when I really don’t want to do something there is nothing anyone can say or do to make me change my mind. In fact, the more someone tells me I should or must do something, the more they can rest assured I won’t do it. But the opposite is equally true. When I have made the decision to do something, I go all in, and usually very quickly. This is why discovering I have the profile of a 2/4 Manifesting Generator according to the theory of Human Design has resonated so much with me. But I’ll talk about all that another day. So I think I can be very confusing to people. Some people perceive me as a lazy, stubborn person. Some people see me as some kind of gifted, super passionate human being. All of this to say, I went all in on this overeating thing. I moved from novice to master very quickly. I learned how to eat my way through emotions rather than simply feel them (devastating for any human being, let alone someone with their Moon in Virgo). It didn’t matter whether it was happiness, sadness, or anything in between. But pretty quickly I also subconsciously learned how to use food and my body as a tool to perpetuate my need to feel ashamed. My body (masturbation, masculine energy or doing, and eating) became the primary mechanism I used to keep me tethered to a religion I hated, all so that I could continue feeling safe and alive in shame.

Every year I gained more weight. I was teased and mocked incessantly by other men (especially by members of Leslie’s family) about how fat I was. I took it all extremely personally. The more ashamed I felt about my body, the more I would eat. The heavier I got, the more lethargic I felt. Then in my early 30s, the weight began to create health problems. My back hurt all the time. Daily tasks became excruciatingly painful. Acid reflux and sleep apnea woke me up in the middle of the night, as I would stop breathing and shoot up in bed, gasping for air. I write this with tears in my eyes. That poor Chris. He truly suffered so much.

By the time I reached my 40s the shame was so deep, I would hide my eating. I often got doughnuts or Taco Bell late at night and parked in some secluded parking lot where there were no street lights. I didn’t want any strangers seeing how pathetic I was. In 2015, we moved to California as I became the rector (head priest) at a small parish. I was 42. That was the year that something shifted in me… the beginning rumblings of change. I made a promise to myself that year: the day I step on the scale and it reads 250 lbs is the day I will start to lose weight. That day came in early October of 2019. I had just turned 47. I used hypnotherapy and Noom. I virtually stopped eating fast food. And while I did lower my food intake, the main thing that allowed me to start losing weight was something I never saw coming. I became a walker. This was a big deal because I was living an extremely sedentary lifestyle. I was taking an average of 500 to 1,000 steps per day. I remember the first time I walked 5,000 steps at the beach by our house, and afterward, I said to myself, “That was too hard. I don’t think I can ever do that again.” Fast forward a couple of months later and I was walking about 50 miles per week.

I was scheduled to walk the Camino in Spain in 2020. I had my passport ready and my flights booked. Then Covid hit. My whole trip got shut down. It turns out over the next few years I would walk the equivalent of many Caminos right in my hometown. In 2021, I walked the equivalent of Los Angeles to New York City. It was invigorating. I felt alive for the first time in decades. Virtually all the pain I had in my body disappeared along with the weight. It was a glorious few years. But just like my leaving Christianity, the weight loss was something external I did. And again, when I decide to do something I go all in. This was just another one of those things. I’m not denying how badass it was of me to lose nearly 80 lbs and walk my way to physical health. It’s still something I’m truly proud of. I have wizard-like abilities when it comes to transformation. A couple of friends actually call me Merlin. I’ll take it!

During that time I became aware that although I left Christianity, I still felt like a sinner. I also became aware that I still felt ashamed of my body even after I lost all the weight. I became obsessed with how many miles I walked per day, my daily caloric intake, my weight, and my BMI. I know I was insufferable to my family. For a couple years it was almost all I talked about.

When I entered my dark night in early 2024, the obsession also collapsed. What has been happening since then feels like a rebirth to me, which feels miraculous. It all feels like grace. I established these habits that would keep serving me even as I was letting go of the motivation for even starting them. I have gained some weight back, but I still walk, and I overeat a lot less. I also care very deeply about what I put into my body. I care about honoring my body as a part of the planet, not something separate. Is the food chatter gone completely? Absolutely not. But the more I release the trauma of shame and become consciously aware (those are actually the same thing, in my opinion) the more silence is creating space in my mind, which is also expanding my heart and creating more space for love.

I don’t even resent shame anymore. I view it as my teacher. Could I have reached this part of my journey without it? Maybe. But what does it matter? It’s been my teacher and I don’t need it anymore. I’ve learned the lesson. What feels extraordinary in this moment is the awareness that all that was ever really holding me back was this teacher. As important as school and education might be, there comes a time when you have to say goodbye to the teacher. The Buddha speaks of this in a parable. He told his students that his teachings were like a raft. Once you get from one shore to the next, you no longer need the raft. My two primary teachers have been Jesus and shame. I’ve already let go of the first. I can feel the shame falling out of my hands even as I write this. It all feels like a gentle breeze. It all feels like grace.